Freesias and Foul Play

by London Lovett

  "Not at all. I keep it with me at all times." He reached into the pocket of his running shorts and produced the phone. His fingers tiptoed over the screen to unlock it. He swiped over to his contact list and tapped on Amanda. His blond brows bunched thickly below deep lines of confusion. "I didn't send these texts." The ruddiness from the run on the beach faded instantly. He looked up with an expression that bordered on terrified. "I swear I did not send these texts." His face suddenly lit up some. "In fact, I can prove it. I have an alibi. I was on stage at 3:30. We were in the middle of dress rehearsal and I was on stage."

  His excuse seemed entirely plausible after hearing Susana's schedule of the afternoon. A main character like Scarecrow would be on stage a lot. He clutched his phone as if he couldn't believe what he was looking at. A few pieces of glitter transferred from his phone to his hand, or it could have been the other way around knowing the clingy nature of glitter.

  "Looks like your phone picked up some glitter," I noted.

  Briggs looked up from his notepad. "Any idea how it got there?"

  Gordon was in such a flabbergasted state he couldn't answer right away. He stared at the shiny silver speck on his hand as if it was some strange and unusual thing. "I don't know," he said. There was a touch of surrender in his tone, then he snapped out of his confusion. "I mean the stuff is everywhere. I found a piece on my toast this morning. Some of us have complained to wardrobe telling them the glitter is a catastrophe, but it's already on the Munchkin costumes. Even if we changed those costumes, it seems like we'd never be rid of the glitter."

  Briggs moved on from the glitter topic. "Mr. Houser, you said you keep your phone with you at all times."

  "Well, yes, in case my agent calls. You don't think I want to stay in this traveling drama group forever, do you? I'm an actor. I'm just waiting for my big break."

  "Then was your phone on you during the rehearsal?" Briggs asked.

  "No, of course not. Wouldn't be very professional to have your phone ring while you're delivering your lines. I left it in my trailer during dress rehearsal." That revelation seemed to ease his mind. "Obviously someone snuck inside my trailer and sent the text. Not sure why. Now, if that's all, I need to get in and take a shower."

  "I don't want to take your phone," Briggs said, "but I might be sending someone over to lift some fingerprints off of it."

  Gordon looked somewhat aghast at the prospect. "This phone is covered with my fingerprints. Would you really be able to find someone else's in between all of mine?"

  "Probably wouldn't be easy but it couldn't hurt to try."

  Gordon looked apprehensive then nodded. "Yeah, I guess if it helps you find out who tried to frame me then that's fine."

  Briggs cleared his throat. "Well, the goal is to find the person who killed Amanda Seton. If we find the person who is trying to frame you, that'll be a bonus. But that gives me a question. Do you know of anybody who wanted to see Amanda dead and hurt you in the process?"

  He shook his head. "Some of the extras are a little jealous of those of us with starring roles, but I can't think of anyone who is mad enough to commit murder. None of this makes sense. I hope you catch the person soon."

  "We will," Briggs said.

  Gordon pushed his sunglasses back over his eyes and walked with long, heavy steps toward the trailers.

  "Everything he said sounded honest and reasonable," I said. "He looked genuinely baffled and horrified by the texts on his phone."

  "True, but don't forget. He's an actor."

  Chapter 24

  Briggs decided to stop in and see Susana to find out just what was going on with the play and the group. It gave me an opportunity to chat with Constance. She happened to be helping several of the prop crew with some paint. It seemed they were repairing the damage on the house cutout that fell on Amanda. It was never fully determined how the house fell on her, but Briggs thought it had been pushed down onto her dead body. Amanda had died from strangulation, so the house falling on top of her had no bearing on her death. I wondered if it had been purely symbolic, that, perhaps, Amanda's attacker had considered her to be wicked, like the witch in the story.

  I stood back and watched for a second. No one seemed to mind. Constance nodded politely but returned to her task. She lifted a paintbrush to smooth some gray paint on a shingle. The sleeve of the shirt she was wearing dropped back, exposing her arm.

  "Oh, your rash is nearly gone," I said. "You must have found the right ointment."

  Even though she was grumpy and disgruntled when I ran into her in the drug store, she was much happier now. She put the brush down and walked over to show me just how improved her skin was.

  "It really worked fast too." She lifted her arm for closer inspection.

  I pulled away for an unexpected sneeze. "Excuse me. That just came out of nowhere."

  "Bless you."

  I turned back to her and sneezed again. It was the ointment. It had the same irritant that caused me to sneeze during my nasal inspection of Amanda.

  Constance now had my undivided attention. My gaze flashed toward Susana's trailer, but there was no sign of Briggs yet.

  "I think there's something in your ointment that makes me sneeze. May I?" I asked pointing to her arm.

  Her nicely trimmed brows arched over her big eyes. "Sure, I guess." She lifted her arm again.

  I managed to take a long enough whiff to figure out the scent before a small barrage of sneezes took over. Constance covered her mouth in shock. "Wow, are you all right? I guess you're either allergic to me or to the ointment," she said with a laugh.

  "I think it's the ointment." I'd learned long ago with a nose like mine to always have a tissue at the ready. I fished deep into my pants pocket and pulled one out. I settled my nose down out of its allergic fit but took a few discrete steps back just to be safe. I should have known earlier what the annoying scent was because I'd always been allergic to it. "By any chance does the ointment have eucalyptus?"

  "How did you know?" Constance's cheeks rounded. She was much cheerier than the first few times I met her, the first when she was pleading for roses and the second when she was picking out the ointment. It wouldn't seem odd except that things had not exactly gone swimmingly for the theater troupe these past twenty-four hours. Or maybe she was extra cheery because the person she despised, the woman who was flirting with her longtime boyfriend, was dead.

  I wasn't about to start accusing her or asking questions that might put her on defense. "This is going to sound strange," I started, "but, by any chance, did you lend your ointment out to another cast member?"

  "You knew that too?" she asked. "It's like you're psychic or something. Tracy and Pete are flying monkeys. They were developing the same rash. We've complained to the makeup and costume team and even to Susana, but they keep telling us it's not in the budget to change things right now. And with Thursday night's cancellation, I'm sure we can just stop thinking about it. We'll be over budget for sure."

  "Did the ointment work on their rashes too?" I asked.

  "I think so. I haven't asked."

  "What's the name of it?" I showed her my hands. "Working in the flower shop gives me rough, dry hands."

  She squinted her large eyes in thought. "I think it's called Miracle Salve. It comes in an orange box."

  "It sounds like they named the product well. But you only lent it to Tracy and Pete?" I asked. It seemed I was going to have to be more direct.

  She looked taken aback by my question. "Yes, I think so." She tilted her head. "Why do you ask?"

  "Oh nothing. It's just that, as you may or may not know, I was assisting Detective Briggs with the tragic scene inside the tent." I decided to avoid the phrase murder scene since there were so many people nearby. "I have a very sensitive nose." I tapped it. "As I have no doubt demonstrated by sneezing like crazy. I sneezed last night too, when I got close to Amanda's skin."

  Her face froze like stone, and she blended in with the gray shingles behind her. Her reacti
on might very well have been caused by me bringing up Amanda's skin. Few people like to hear about dead people in detail.

  "I think she was using the same ointment," I said.

  Her mouth popped into an O and some color returned. "Yes, you're right. You really do have a great nose. I lent Amanda some ointment too. She said the stage makeup was giving her a rash. We keep complaining to Susana that they need to buy better makeup. The stuff they use is cheap."

  I'd been so intensely focused on the conversation with Constance, I hadn't noticed Briggs walk up next to me. He cleared his throat to get my attention and let me know he wanted in on the chat.

  "Detective Briggs, this is Constance. She plays the part of a Munchkin and a flying monkey," I said politely. He already knew the pertinent details about Constance being Gordon's girlfriend and that she was the actress pleading with Susana to put on the show with Constance standing in as Dorothy.

  "How do you do?" Briggs asked. "I thought I heard the name Amanda being mentioned."

  Constance piped right up. "I was just explaining to Lacey that I'd lent some of my skin ointment to Amanda because the stage makeup was giving her a rash. It has eucalyptus in it, and it works great on rashes."

  I glanced over at Briggs. "Yes, eucalyptus is one of the substances that makes me sneeze."

  "Oh, I see," Briggs said with a nod. "So you offered some of the salve on the day of the dress rehearsal and opening night?" he asked.

  She nodded. "Sure did." She giggled lightly. "I've lent out the tube so much, I'm going to have to go back to the drug store and buy more." Her friendly smile faded. "Detective Briggs, have you found out who killed Amanda? I saw you going into Susie's trailer, so I thought you might have discovered the name. I sure hope it's no one I know well."

  "No killer yet," he said. "But soon." He motioned with his head. "We should be heading back."

  "Yes, nice talking to you, Constance," I said before we turned and started back to town.

  My phone buzzed as we reached the sidewalk. I pulled it out and read the text from Elsie. "I'm bringing some chocolate croissants to girls' night. Be there at seven."

  "Girls' night," I said out loud. "How could I have forgotten about girls' night. We've had this planned for two weeks."

  "I take it that means dinner with me is out," Briggs said sounding cutely disappointed.

  I grabbed hold of his arm and squeezed it tightly. "I'm sorry about that. Elsie, Lola and I made plans two weeks ago to pig out in comfy clothes and watch Nicholas Sparks movies."

  "Nicholas Sparks?" he asked.

  I sighed. "You're such a guy."

  "Guilty as charged. Now, back to that last conversation. Would someone put ointment on before they were about to be covered in stage makeup? Wouldn't that make the makeup smear?"

  I leaned back to give him a shocked looked. "Maybe you're not such a guy, after all. Yes, it does seem odd that someone would put oily salve on before makeup, but I only smelled it faintly on Amanda. In fact, when I moved away from the one spot that made me sneeze I was able to control my allergic reaction. It's possible she used it a few hours before her call to the makeup trailer, and the cream was already well absorbed into her skin. I have to say, I asked Constance several times if she lent the ointment to any other crew members, and she listed off a few but didn't mention Amanda."

  That statement slowed his pace. "Interesting. Then how did it come out that she had given some to Amanda?"

  I released his arm and pulled my coat tighter. The temperature was dropping with the sun. The muted pinks and oranges of dusk were starting to poke through the gray sky. "I had to sort of lead her to it. I mentioned that I'd smelled the same ointment on Amanda's skin. Then her memory was jogged, but honestly, she seemed to be natural about it all. I didn't get the sense that she was flustered or on defense. I think she just genuinely forgot. What did Susana have to say?"

  "She was poring over the accounts and trying to decide if they should put on the shows after all. They'll be in the red if they have to refund tickets."

  "That makes sense. Did she impart anything else of note?" I asked.

  "Not really. Feeling a little lost on this case. I think I'll head back to the office and go over my notes and the coroner's report once more. Then I promised Bear a long walk."

  We stopped in front of the police station. He peeked around and kissed me. "Hmm, I missed those sweet lips. Have fun at girls' night."

  "Thanks. Let me know if anything pops out at you about the case." I waved and headed along the sidewalk toward the flower shop.

  Chapter 25

  We'd pooled our Nicholas Sparks movies and ended up with our usual favorite, The Notebook. We'd seen it enough that we could talk through most of the movie and still know exactly what was happening. It was the perfect selection for girls' night. And so were the treats and drinks.

  Lola was busy in the kitchen fixing up a tantalizing boozy drink that contained sparkling cranberry and vodka. It was rare for any of us to drink hard liquor, but Lola had seen the drink on Instagram and decided we could step out of our comfort zone for one evening. Besides, there were plenty of hearty, filling treats to absorb any of the impact of the alcohol.

  Elsie had brought her promised chocolate croissants. She also had several berry tarts that had been leftover from the day's business. I fixed a hummus dip complete with pita chips and fresh veggies, and Lola, who rarely spent time in the kitchen, had stopped at the pizza restaurant for some cheesy bread and garlic sticks. It was a carb filled extravaganza.

  Lola handed me the spritzy drink. My nose tickled from the bubbles. "I think I'm going to like this." I took a sip. "Hmm, I love anything bubbly. And the perfect cocktail to go with Elsie's chocolate croissant." I lifted the pastry off the plate and admired it. "Ah, who am I kidding? I'd eat this with any drink." I took a bite. The thick dark chocolate filling melted on my tongue. I followed the bite with another sip of my drink. "Culinary perfection."

  Elsie filled her plate with some of the veggies and dip. She rarely ate her own baked goods at gatherings, which made sense. She was breathing the stuff in all day. Although, then what was my excuse? Most of the delicious aromas from the bakery wafted through the flower shop walls all day. Ryder only got the occasional whiff, but my super nose picked up every sugary smell.

  Lola plunked down on the couch next to me with a plate piled high with goodies and her cranberry drink. Elsie sat in the chair. We'd started the movie ten minutes earlier, but the sound was on mute. Lola glanced at the screen as she picked up a pita chip. "Ryan Gosling should have left his nose alone. I mean seriously, he's so handsome with the crooked nose."

  "I agree," Elsie said. "It gives him character."

  "Maybe he'd been self conscious about his nose his whole life," I suggested. "Maybe he was teased, so he decided he was rich and famous enough to finally fix it. But I agree. He looks sort of cocky and charming with the crooked nose. Now, when he comes on screen, I'm not entirely sure it's him."

  "Yes and then there's the whole Ryan Gosling and Ryan Reynolds confusion thing. Now he looks more like Reynolds, so it's harder to tell them apart," Elsie said.

  I looked at Lola for confirmation on that theory. She shook her head, so she was with me on it. "I don't think they look that much alike, Elsie. They get confused because they have the same first name," I said.

  "I think you're wrong but then what do I know?" Elsie said.

  Lola dipped a carrot into hummus. "According to you—absolutely everything," she quipped.

  Elsie paused in thought. "Actually, you're right. So, Lola, have you stopped torturing poor Ryder about his trip?"

  Lola licked the carrot. "I might try and get a few more gifts or nice dinners out of it."

  "You're wicked," I said. "If you look up the word in the dictionary, your smiling face would be sitting right next to it."

  "And yet, I'm unmoved," Lola said with a chin lift. "You two should be vying for a few trinkets too. After all, you'll both have to put up with
me while my boyfriend is somewhere near the equator traipsing through snake-filled jungles."

  Elsie glanced my way. "Hadn't thought of that."

  "Oh, I have," I admitted. "I'm already gearing up for it."

  "Just like I'm gearing up for your freak out when bridal season hits and you realize you don't have my wonderful boyfriend around to keep you calm and organized." Lola sat back and bit the carrot.

  Elsie rested back in the chair. "She has a point."

  "Said the woman who has gone through more assistants than I've gone through toothbrushes. Oh, let's stop this, girls. I need one of those tarts." I hopped up and walked to the table where we'd laid our spread. "My appetite came back with a vengeance once that nasty cold finally disappeared."

  "You got over it quick," Lola said.

  "That's because I gave her a delicious healthy lunch filled with super foods." There was not even a second of hesitation when Elsie said it.

  "I think Franki would argue that point. She insisted her chicken soup is the best way to cure a cold." I finally decided on a strawberry tart. It was heavy with a clear, syrupy glaze.

  Lola snapped her fingers and looked my direction. "I just remembered, I was going to tell you something."

  I walked around and sat next to her but swiveled to face her. "Can I listen while eating a strawberry tart?"

  "Sure, knock yourself out. This afternoon, Officer Chinmoor was in my shop looking to buy an antique dresser. He was going to buy it for his girlfriend's birthday," Lola said.

  Elsie snickered. "Do you mean to tell me that silly man has found himself a girlfriend?"

  Lola looked askance at her. "Boy, someone is feeling catty tonight."

  Elsie's head tilted with an 'oh come on' look, but Lola decided to carry on. "Anyhow, he was trying to decide between an Empire style 1840's four drawer dresser with carved feet and a midcentury walnut one that was more her style but cost an extra fifty bucks." She waved her hand. "That's beside the point. So he's standing there taking his sweet time trying to make the right decision, and these two women walk into the shop. I knew they had to be with the theater group because I'd never seen them before, and they were cute and petite and they sort of moved like dancers."